That set me on; And he comes, now Fortune.
_Pho._ Caesars unthankfulness a little stirs me,
A little frets my bloud; take heed, proud _Roman_,
Provoke me not, stir not mine anger farther;
I may find out a way unto thy life too,
(Though arm'd in all thy Victories) and seize it.
A Conquerour has a heart, and I may hit it.
_Sept_. May it please your Lordship?
_Pho._ O _Septimius_!
_Sept._ Your [Lordship] knows my wrongs.
_Pho._ Wrongs?
_Sept._ Yes, my Lord,
How the Captain of the Guard, _Achillas_, slights me.
_Pho._ Think better of him, he has much befriended thee,
Shew'd thee much love in taking the head from thee.
The times are alter'd (Souldier) _Caesar's_ angry,
And our design to please him lost and perish'd;
Be glad thou art unnam'd, 'tis not worth the owning;
Yet, that thou maist be useful--
_Sept._ Yes, my Lord,
I shall be ready.
_Pho._ For I may employ thee
To take a rub or two out of my way,
As time shall serve, say that it be a Brother?
Or a hard Father?
_Sept._ 'Tis most necessary,
A Mother, or a Sister, or whom you please, Sir.
_Pho._ Or to betray a noble Friend?
_Sept._ 'Tis all one.
_Pho._ I know thou wilt stir for Gold.
_Sept._ 'Tis all my motion.
_Pho._ There, take that for thy service, and farewel;
I have greater business now.
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